


Touch Not The Fire: A Growing Boy.

by Lopaka_Tanu



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bigotry & Prejudice, Body Horror, Body Modification, Gen, POV First Person, Science Fiction, Space Stations, Teaching, Technology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 03:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4548522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lopaka_Tanu/pseuds/Lopaka_Tanu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life among the heavens is pretty much like it was on Earth. Alan Maxwell works, he socializes, he sleeps. It's all a steady cycle that suits him just fine.</p><p>His job certifying the people who go out and explore the galaxy for competency is fulfilling. So what if it's not the one he wanted. You can't have everything in life. At least, not if you're one of the 2%, the Nulls.</p><p>He learned a long time ago to accept what he could get and be ungrateful. His time would come, one day, then he would be the one out there among the stars. The universe would be waiting for him with open arms.</p><p>Until then, he gets to make sure the rest of humanity is safe from the crackpots and ignorant people that could ruin it for the rest of them by doing something stupid and getting everyone else killed. At least, that's what he tells himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short story that introduces the world of Alan Maxwell. 'Touch Not The Fire' will be a longer novel with a wider-arching plot than the summary explains. I merely want to gauge how my writing skills have held up since my last work 2 years ago. Please, I need to know if I set things up in a way that informs and entertains.

When I was six, my Mother brought me to Europa Orbital. At that time, Jupiter was beyond the range of the Union of Sol's regular patrols. This made enforcing the government's charter difficult. Without a permanent base, their laws were more like hostile suggestions.

Mylan Cybernetics kept a satellite facility there for just that reason. It was an open secret among the system members that some of their Less-Than-Approved research projects were housed in the labs. Some were rumored to be highly illegal.

Mother didn't tend to rumor, usually. Yet, desperation made everyone fools from time to time...

"There's not much in the way of true disability, Mrs. Maxwell. Thirty years ago, he would have been considered a perfectly healthy, normal boy. It's simply an allergy, albeit, a rare and particularly cruel one." Setting the flexi page down on his desk, Diagnosan Showan's fingers tapped at the glossy screen. The image changed several times until he finished with a shake of his head. "I'm sorry."

We sat in his office, the desk separating him and us. Mother sat in one chair, her back straight, head held high as she faced the man down. That had placed me in the remaining chair beside hers. It was a familiar setting, almost comforting by then.

"I see." Though her face wasn't visible behind the shimmer veil, the frost in Mother's tone demonstrated her disapproval. "He will have to learn to live with it." She made the statement like a sage's curse, slow and sonorous. Despite her words, she wouldn't look over.

There was no need. By age six, I had learned not to draw attention to myself. 

For some reason, Showan had smiled at me then. "Don't feel bad, fella." He winked once in a way that made his entire face twitch. It was the sign of a bad install and explained why he still used the flexi pages. 

Mother didn't like when people got off subject. Clearing her throat, she shifted in her chair and drummed her fingers on her walking stick.

He sighed and smiled professionally at her. "Yes, sorry, back to work." Tapping his desk twice, he sat back. Showan was probably annoyed with her now. "Once, it was very common, almost a full third of the population. We have made great strides. Now, less than two percent remain affected. Alan simply happened to draw the unlucky 'recessive gene' numbers."

"I know." And she did. Everyone knew and they reminded her. This was her fault. She wasn't one of them so I had been born broken, unable to use even a simple intraface implant.

"Don't give up hope. The retroviral vaccine looked very promising, but early indicators showed a quick immuno response prevents gene therapy from being truly viable, yet. They're still working on it, though, which is the important part. In the mean time, he will have to continue doing things the old fashioned way like any other Null."

With those words, he had stolen something precious from my mother. That was the first time I ever heard her cry.


	2. The Etiquette of Survival

2268 - Terran Orbital 6271: Dry Dock Station.

"Steady the helm. Release control to the nav-con at system mark-30." Commander Jarro's orders were to the letter from the Command Codex. This made it obvious he was using a retinal reader rather than relying on memory or his own experience.

Seven points off. The deduction would have been less, but he was applying for third officer of an interstellar cruiser. In a split second decision, experience saved lives. Unfortunately for him, this also dropped his score below UoS standards. 

It would be a lie if I said deactivating the controls to the simulator made me feel bad, even a little bit. Typing in the shutdown sequence was second nature by now. The cooling system automatically kicked on with a soft hum and the exit door opened. I finished the power commands with a small flourish, snapping my fingers while the overhead lighting came back on.

In the control center, the monitoring boards had been the main source of illumination. We preferred to work in semi-darkness to prevent distractions. Now that my section was visible, I could see the rest of the room. Seven work stations were arranged in a half-circle around the false-command deck, each overseeing a corresponding station in the simulator. I was at the central console since there was only one person actually being tested today.

Normally, there would be three Over Sight staff monitoring. Even with only one applicant, we needed multiple observers for a more accurate conclusion. Normally, that is. Someone felt they were too important to wait for the return of two other qualified personnel from planetside recreation. That was just too bad for today's unlucky contestant.

Twenty-eight years of dealing with the likes of Heiken Jarro hasn't made me bitter, not at all. In fact, I'm a very pleasant and happy person. Hitting the print command on the engraver at the top of my console was a joyful experience. There was even a smile on my face as I watched the machine alter the man's personal data rod with the built-in industrial laser.

He would have to wait another six years before being issued another PDR due to his age. Six years with each and every failure etched on his smug, condescending...

A throat cleared behind me, interrupting this tiny bit of personal revenge and reminding me that I hadn't been alone the entire time.

"When you're done, I'll handle dismissals." 

That was Dr. Selix, the destroyer of amusement, enemy of good times, and the bane of my existence. He was also the Certification Manager for Dry Dock Station. We were the largest command training center in the Terran System, that made him a very important man. As his second in command, I was a semi-very important person.

Shielded in a semi-transparent glass box, the engraver was an old piece of tech. It liked to whir and vibrate as the cool down sequence activated. That lasted fifteen seconds, then the PDR popped up from the top. 

Before I could move toward the rod, Dr. Selix reached over my head and snatched it up. It glowed bright red for a moment, contrasting with his dark skin. "Ahh, there we go." He smiled at it, a hint of satisfaction on his features. At eighty-three years-old, any victory was still a victory. "Reset the simulator and go about your duties, Mr. Maxwell."

He meant cleaning the damn thing. After every use, the simulator went through a maintenance cycle. This usually involved checking the electrical components and wiping down the consoles inside. If he was feeling particularly crabby, that would include doing the equipment testing by hand.

Wisely, I chose not to protest his orders. The maintenance 'bots' from Level Four would handle the majority of the work. I still had to go in and wipe the damn thing down, though. With any luck, Commander Jarro wasn't a pisser.

~!~

After cleaning down the command chair, I still had other assigned tasks in my schedule. My world did not strictly revolve around the self-important, but we did share a star and several gas giants. When not testing command officers, I had junior crew members to filter through. Anyone with a basic degree could do this. Yet, I was given the task. I had 'special skills' others lacked.

Standing at the center of a table grid, I had my folder and writing case. The hatch to the chamber slid open with a gentle hiss from the hydraulics. All I had to do was wait and watch.

They entered slowly, pausing at the door in small clusters. Not a one was over twenty cycles. Only after the last of them had crossed the threshold did I speak.

"Good afternoon, I am Sub-Administrator Alan Maxwell, assistant to Dr. Garron Selix." Speaking in a loud, clipped tone, I managed to get the attention of the twenty-seven people assembled at the back of the exam room. Even then, it wasn't fully on me. Four years of practice hadn't made this any less of a challenge.

The Null-Chamber canceled out access to the Stream the moment a person entered. For many of them, I've heard it is like someone struck them with a bat and blind folded them at the same time. I liked that analogy. In addition to the lack of information came a new awareness. The shock of being cut-off suddenly made people realize there was something under their skin.

One of the most common responses after the initial freezing in place was to reach up and touch their faces. They liked to trace their features, but no one would find anything unusual. The implants were designed to fit seamlessly into place. This required minor surgery and the stupidity to overcome the fear of being butchered. 

That might have been a little biased, but it came from a place of deep resentment.

I had to clear my throat to be noticed once more. "You are in a nullification field, as was explained at the beginning of your training, the middle, and this morning. Access to the Stream is strictly prohibited during all testing. Today, we are assessing your memory recall and cognitive function." Nothing much, just the basics today.

Twenty-seven blank faces stared back at me. On an average day, this was nothing to be concerned about. One of the side effects of constantly being able to share and receive information through an electromagnetic field is that other forms of communications...atrophy. Staring stupidly at someone conveyed no more ignorance than smiling. Which was funny, because both could be done by the feeble minded, something they thought of me.

We would see whose mind lacked intelligence. Being the proctor didn't give me an unfair advantage. I knew the answers because I memorized them as a kid.

Starting towards this group of children, I opened the folder and my writing box. "You will not be using a computer. Anything beyond fifteenth century technology will not work in this room." 

All eyes were upon the objects I held. Nothing new about that. Most of them had probably never seen the like of it before.

As I reached them, I started handing out pieces of paper with a pen. "You will write out your answers on the paper to each question I give you. Since you are here, I will assume you graduated an accredited secondary school and know how to do that." That was, perhaps, being too generous. Too bad. Being able to read a digital display without digital assistance was essential, even is most people considered it a waste of time.

I wasn't just being an asshole. That was a large part of it, I would be willing to admit that under oath. This was life. Constant access to the Stream was a fantasy, especially if you were going to be traipsing across the universe. There was a reason the Codex's unamenable bylaws included an educational clause.

As they shuffled by me to take a seat, I suppressed the elation to their acceptance. More than a few glanced at the paper in genuine fear before taking it.

Time to cull the weak. Mwa hahaha.

~!~

'How long has the Cambridgian-Mumbali Static Field Generator been the go-to drive for Away-Craft, and what is the primary function of such vehicles?'

"Five years and to unload cargo. Correct, Lt. J.G. Laurence Mueller. And it had better have been." I marked down another five points to the total score. So far, though, it wasn't promising.

That had been a standard question that any first-year student could answer. If you graduated, then you should know the first fifty questions on the qualifications exam. The next one wasn't much harder.

'Granting the Articles of Foundation, the Union of Sol became the central governmental authority over what territories and who were the primary holdouts?'

Seeing his barely legible scrawl had me sighing. "Fourteen-ninety-two?" Add a minus sign, and you were closer to your grade, dink! He also missed the next one.

How anyone could fail to answer something as simple as 'When did Stellarnaut Lauren Holly first walk on the surface of Mars and what was her nationality?' was beyond me. Everyone knew the Australians were the only ones mad enough to ever colonize that barren rock. For Athena's sake, the Killer Wallabies of Deimos had been a running gag since before I was a born. Not that they hadn't earned it. When your first crop is Hops, there's no real defense.

After Mueller failed to meet a sixty percent minimum on the first half, I just entered his score in my flexi page and moved to the next applicant.

Proctoring the practical knowledge and experience exam was one of the most infuriating parts of my duties. Most of the takers had no idea what the hell I handed them or what to do with it. When I told them, they looked at me like I had lost my damn mind. I would then read out the question six times, because there was always one person who didn't hear it. Grading afterwards was always an adventure due to poor penmanship.

Exhilarating!

We used to use computers, long before my tenor. The rise of implants made cheating easier. The second time someone hacked the data stream, a more rudimentary method was introduced. All forms of advanced technology are now banned in the exam rooms.

Being the only one without an implant on staff, I never suffered from 'isolation syndrome' and wasn't distracted from my duties. Spending a great deal of time in the nullification field had no affect on me. These pathetic babies couldn't be cut off to the instant access of knowledge even for a second. As a result, I became Dr. Selix's assistant with all the associated responsibilities. It wasn't a promotion when no one else wanted to do the damn task.

Sighing, I got back to grading the papers. The numbers for the identification had to be manually entered as my flexi page couldn't read them. Again with the illegible handwriting. It beeped after I hit enter.

"Let's see how you did, Lt. J.G. Salas Watermann." With a name like that, she could have only come from the outer ring. The mining colonies that followed Jupiter's wake liked their basic elements. If I checked, her father probably had stake in at least four orbitals. Daughters of dominant fathers tended to end up here. Daughters of dominant mothers tended to end up owning mining colonies.

Question one: 'The Orbital System declared independence from Terra Prime, aka Earth, after what consortium's failed attempt at establishing their own governing body?'

Her answer: The Temon Iridium LLC.

Impressive. Out of twenty candidates so far, she was the first one to get that one correct. Maybe there was room in space for her after all.

~!~

Lounge 3 was a lazy-man's bar title. It was quite literally the name of the damn station section. But, they served chemicals in dirty glasses designed to impair cognitive function, so...

As I waited for my fruit juice cocktail, Dionysus knew if it contained any real fruit juice, I had a chance to people watch. Service was bad enough that you came here for the company, the drugs were just for ambiance. A respectable number were filling the place tonight and more would be on the way. It was early, yet, and the place was already starting to get loud, even over the deep thrum of the atmospheric recycler.

Certifications had been taking place all over the station for the past month. There would be more as the push to launch date drew closer. It was almost exciting; this was the first new long range mission in ten years. Giselle 2 was being upgraded from border outpost to colony and the UoS was establishing their brand early. So, we had to place our people in positions of authority before the Free-Held got their hooks into it.

Like a good cog in the machine, I was doing my part, indoctrinating the masses. Or, in less subversive language, I was ensuring that those who went were qualified for their positions. It is what I do and I'm very good at it.

When I first came to DDS seven years ago, I had already been working shake down cruises for three years. I performed system checks and ship maintenance on thirteen stellar liners and a half-dozen interstellar cruisers. That was what I had been trained to do, after all. Which is funny, despite my experience with them and position here, I had yet to leave the home system.

It takes more than experience on the Pluto Express to work at Dry Dock Station, though. You have to have the right educational background as well.

Same as everyone on staff, I had attended UoS 'Unified Standard' secondary schooling. I took the courses on practical gravity drive repair along side less useful ones like 'physical education' that I couldn't pass. My primary school had been 'stupidly' focused on scientific education and cultural enrichment. Ten years of ballet hadn't prepared me for such incredibly useful things like running laps and throwing balls. Yet, that being able to stretch my body into odd shapes which made maneuvering during zero-gravity repairs much easier had been a waste of time.

That's right, Coach Ryan, and I'm a simpering eunuch for the Galactic Elite like you predicted.

While I reveled in another personal moment of triumph, I had another battle to face. Turning to my right, I checked the bartop computer. I had used it to manually place an order, and there it was. My drink was queued sixth from the top. It had been third when I placed it ten minutes ago.

Sighing, I tried not to let it discourage me. I was having a good day otherwise. Another SAO had been denied clearance based upon a lack of education and experience. The Universe was safe for another day.

The sudden blaring of noise from the far corner had me wincing and drawing back. Someone had found the vid screen controls and turned on the latest from Mars U or Earth Tech, or whatever. It was some awful violent event that involved a lot of screaming and not much action. The whole thing was rigged to sell merchandise and stiff the suckers placing bets.

Still, it was best not to mention these facts to the grunts that happily filled the lounge and boasted about their own scores in physical events and competitive sporting. At least, I think that's what they called it. My cultural ignorance on such things was a point of pride with me. While they were throwing rocks and hurling inflated mammal bladders, I think, I was busy learning.

As I stated, to work here, you needed more than experience, you have to know why things do what they do. That bit of information was imparted from a vocational school on Terran Orbital 0185, also known as The Arcade. Like many of my class, I have no idea how it got the name, nor did I care. You only went there to learn at an accelerated rate with plenty of 'hands-on' experience.

Translation, you were poor and couldn't afford the traditional trade schools and universities. Which was why, despite having similar knowledge and experience, I was certifying officers, not serving with them.

Or getting served. A quick glance at the drink menu showed my drink had been queued further down the list.

A round of cheers rang out as whistles blasted from the vid screen. Someone had...socked the gobblesnock? Seriously, it sounded like complete gibberish to me. What the hell was an illegal touchback? It sounded perverted. That- might be interesting.

As it was, I was getting tired. There would be another long day of secondary officers tomorrow despite not being in a rush. The command staff was almost stocked with competent individuals. They still needed a Third Officer, but we had another four weeks to find one. Hell, The Uluru hadn't even completed her first FTL circumnavigation of the Kuiper Belt. We had time.

Sighing, I tapped the screen to enter my passcode and canceled my order. Being normal had its privileges. 

Heading for the exit, more cheers erupted from the crowd. The noise was so loud I had to wince and cover my left ear. Four more weeks of this, then things could go back to normal. These idiots would be gone forever, if I was lucky, and I would never have to hear some guy who was used to dealing with children explain that something bad was bad over a loudspeaker again.

~!~

After failing to find relaxation in Lounge 3, my usual way of winding down was walking the station. DDS was one of the largest orbitals in the system, a hundred ships docked everyday. There was so much to see that I tended to forget what was bothering me. Even with the increased traffic, most places I visited were often quiet. I needed that respite tonight.

Walking the High Point observation deck wasn't the place I wanted to see Darren Isla, capital D, capital I. Thankfully, his tolerance for my presence was still at 'negligible levels' and he studiously ignored me as I passed. After spending the first half of my duty shift with the man, so much the better.

Okay, so today really hadn't been a good day. I was having an atypically bad one, in fact. My evenings weren't usually spent trying to get service in a Rec Lounge, at least, not alone. I'm a social drinker, otherwise, alcohol never touched these lips. Unfortunately, with the successful completion of the primary crew roster, eighty percent of my staff went on vacation.

They would not be back for four days, so, I had the techs from Level Four assisting this week. We don't normally associate. In fact, the last time I actually talked with one of Darren Isla's crew, we had been rewiring the practice simulator. By the end of the third day of that monotonous work, they had been ready to put up banners and meet on the field of battle. Spunky little maintenance bots.

Darren himself was an efficient lab guy and that was all. His interpersonal skills were the direct reason he never left Level Four. Otherwise, it's been rumored, he would have been a serious contender for Dr. Selix's assistant four years ago. There was a better chance of finding life on Mars, but you couldn't tell him or his worker drones that.

It was pleasant here, aside from the robotic company. At the designated 'top' of the station, the observation deck had an unobstructed view of the whole universe, nothing but you, a domed platform, and the cosmos. You might think that entailed a billion stars, planets, and galaxies, but you'd be wrong. 

Glowing dust motes. That's how my father once put it. From space, everything was distant and barely registered. The stars didn't twinkle, planets were little more than points of light, and the sun- that had to be filtered out. Even at eight light minutes distance, you could be cooked like an egg.

Everything was so far away that if you looked up, the people and the station around you disappeared. Your eyes focused on the vastness of space, the empty darkness populated by pinpricks of light. The affect on the mind was one of the most hauntingly beautiful experiences. Here, you could almost feel the Universe pulling you in every direction, pushing you nowhere in particular. 

You were adrift, at one and apart at the same time, the mind could only observe...

"Centaurus Beta Major. First observed in 2208. Identified as Type K, Giant. Invisible to the naked eye even without the filtering of an atmosphere. Impressive, Sub-Administrator Maxwell."

Heart pounding, I jerked in place, coming back to myself. "What the hell?" In a daze as I tried to gain my balance, my eyes saw only blackness and stars for several blinks, I still knew that smug voice! Darren Isla couldn't have startled me worse even if he had screamed right in my ear.

He knew what he had been doing! When he became visible, the Almighty Asshole of Level Four was a few feet away, one black eyebrow raised in amusement. It was the only emotion that pale bastard would ever visibly display that wasn't instinctual. Like the rest of those Plugins, he never really learned how to express the full-range!

But, I was the defective one.

Mood soured, I managed to straighten myself up and keep from strangling the man. So much for finding some solace. After taking a deep breath, I decided it was best to just call it a night and return to my habitat. Without the familiarity of my own people, these next few days were going to be trying. It was nothing new. My first few months hadn't exactly been a stroll through the mangellanic clouds. 

I survived before, now would be no different. That robotic ass, on the other hand, was guaranteed nothing of the sort.


End file.
